A Canto Bight Wedding
by Mayhem21
Summary: They didn't plan to get married, but now they are. The stakes are set: who can go the longest without spilling the beans? It's the best joke ever. But will they be laughing at the end? (Wes Janson/Hobbie Klivian)
1. Chapter 1

Keeping a firm hold on Janson's arm, Hobbie leaned sideways and quickly scooped up a fresh bottle of the local brew as the two pilots stumbled through the crowd. A few moments later, he spotted a small alcove facing the large plaza they were exploring and began to steer his wingmate towards it.

Janson laughed as he was tossed against a sturdy duracrete wall and Hobbie stumbled to a halt beside him. "And I thought this whole trip was going to be boring," he wheezed. "Or full of shooting. Like the last mission with Celchu. Lot of Imps on that one." He paused, letting his head fall back against the wall. "We had Imps."

"Got away from them, though," Hobbie noted, remembering the sudden panic as two cruisers suddenly flashed into view.

"Blind jumps are exciting."

"Terrifying, I think you mean."

"We're fine. Made it here, didn't we? To this place- It's- What's this planet's name again?"

"Niopra," Hobbie replied. With unsteady hands, he refilled the crude wooden mug that had been his companion for the past several hours.

"Me," Janson insisted, thrusting his own mug forward. "More."

Hobbie eyed the other pilot for a moment with a certain amount of skepticism. Ace pilot he might be, but Wes Janson was still weedy and gangly. Nearly twenty years old, he looked closer to sixteen or seventeen. And judging by the glassy look in his eyes and flushed cheeks, he was more than a little intoxicated.

Sudden shrill laughter broke through the air, tearing Hobbie's attention away from Janson. Two young human women stumbled by the alcove, hands clasped tightly together as they laughed and giggled, heading determinedly towards the far end of the plaza.

Seeing Hobbie's attention wander, Janson reached out and tipped the bottle and began refilling his mug.

"Not too much," Hobbie said as he turned his attention back to Janson. "We leave tomorrow. Once we have, um, fuel. They're refueling our ships."

Snorting, Janson took a long pull from his mug. "That's tomorrow. Flying's easy. Drink now. Party now. Do- whatever the kriffing hell people are doing here."

"It's a festival," Hobbie deadpanned. "Be festive."

Janson threw his head back and laughed. It was easy to make him laugh, Hobbie had discovered. Easy and the sound of it had a knack for loosening the knot of worry that was his constant companion. Unaware of Hobbie's idle musings, Janson pulled at his arm, dragging him away from the alcove.

"Come on," Janson said with a grin. "That sounds extra festive," he declared, jerking his head towards a large cluster of people cheering at one end of the plaza.

With a snort, Hobbie took a gulp from his mug and let himself be dragged back into the crowd.

* * *

A bright, yellow light suddenly fell across Hobbie's face, causing him to grimace and groan, then try to roll away. Instantly, a sharp pain stabbed through his temples and a wave of nausea swept through his stomach and up his throat, leaving him flopped helplessly on his back. As he dragged a blanket over his face, trying to block out the light, he realized that his mouth was bone-dry and that he ached all over. As though he'd run a marathon the day before.

"Mrmph."

The sound came from beside him, then the bed beneath him wobbled slightly as a warm body rolled over and pressed close to his side. A face buried itself into his shoulder and he felt soft puffs of hot air on his skin from his companion's slow, deep breaths while an arm loosely wound itself around his.

A nagging sense of responsibility began to tug at Hobbie's mind, a vague awareness that there was something he needed to do today. But he just couldn't get his thoughts in order enough to remember what it was. It was important though, right?

"Stop thinkin' s'much," a voice mumbled into his arm. "Sleepin'."

Hobbie waited until the heat of the sunlight had faded somewhat, then reluctantly pulled the blanket off his face and set to work opening his eyes.

Finally, Hobbie got his bleary vision working again. The first thing he saw was a wide, wooden ceiling above him glowing faintly in the light of the rising sun. Blinking, he looked around and spotted several large windows with drawn curtains made from a light, unevenly woven fabric. Craning his head for a moment, he realized the bed was set underneath another large window and that there was a small gap in the curtains through which light had managed to find him.

This… was not the _Redemption_. Suddenly uneasy, Hobbie forced himself to look down at the warm body curled up next to him.

Brown-black hair fell across his companion's face, obscuring everything that wasn't pressed against Hobbie's arm. A bare arm was hooked around his and, Hobbie suddenly realized, he could feel the warm press of flesh against his body further down. There was a sharp hip and a hairy leg, and _sithspawn_ , a chill went up his spine as he remembered who he'd been on the mission with.

The Boss was going to kill him. Narr was going to transform into an enraged rancor and rip him to shreds for this. Then Antilles would set fire to whatever was left of him, and even Luke might deliver a kick or two just to round things out.

Janson- Wes- It was Wes now, wasn't it? They'd jump-skipped straight to a first name basis now, hadn't they? No more polite distance, no more 'getting to know you' feelers. Not if they'd done what he thought they'd done last night.

Wes was indisputably the baby of Rogue Flight. A seasoned pilot with plenty of kills under his belt or not, he and Luke were still the youngest. And Luke at least looked like he'd finished growing, whereas Wes was still an always hungry teenager with gangly limbs and a lean body that was still building the muscle and strength his broad frame hinted he'd have someday.

Luke had an eerie, almost mystic quality to him at times that belied his apparent youth. He had similar flashes of naivety and wonder that Wes had, but in other moments, he seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. His sense of duty and responsibility were so strong that he was capably serving as Antilles's second-in-command as they carried out their various missions.

Meanwhile, Wes was just… Wes. Cheerful, almost manic sometimes. Always looking around with fascinated eyes. He was deadly in a fight, never hesitated to pull the trigger either in an X-Wing or on the ground, but there was still something almost innocent to him. Out of all of the pilots in Rogue Flight, he'd grown up the furthest from the direct touch of the Empire's dark influence and it showed.

Well. Had shown.

Who knew what things would be like now that Hobbie may or may not have spent the night drunkenly deflowering him?

Possibly.

Wes had quickly proven himself popular with many of the female members of the Rebellion, but Hobbie couldn't ever remember him paying any special attention to any of the males. Of course, Wes also hung out with Antilles more than him, so what did he know?

Well, he knew they'd both gotten drunk, more than they'd intended on that emerald brew. He could feel a distinct dried graininess on the sheets below him. And notably didn't feel the ache of having been on the receiving end of any coupling. (Not that he'd had any interest in that since the Academy.) Which, logically, meant Wes had been the recipient of whatever enthusiasm they'd been able to work up.

Biting back a groan, Hobbie automatically raised his hand to run it through his hair- then froze.

Reddish-brown lines and patterns were wrapped around his hand, wrist, and arm. The swirling loops and spirals followed the curve of his arm, wobbled slightly around jutting bones. A memory suddenly flashed through his mind, bright and shiny and blurry at the edges. Something like a net wrapping around his limb as he clutched at Wes's hand, the narrow strands holding them together. The cool feeling of something damp spreading across his skin as a voice said words about _honor, protect, for all time_. The roar of an approving crowd as Wes laughed and repeated them, then cocked his head expectantly as Hobbie did the same.

 _Sithspawn_. They'd definitely done more than just fool around.

A knot forming in his gut, Hobbie carefully rolled onto his side so he could shake Wes awake.

The younger man let out a soft whine as Hobbie extracted his arm, then rolled over onto his stomach and buried his face in a pillow.

"Come on, wake up," Hobbie prompted as he reached out with his tattooed hand to shake Wes's shoulder. His voice sounded rough and hoarse, and he suddenly realized the ache in his throat was from more than just drinking all of the previous day. Face coloring slightly, he gave Wes another shake.

When a flailing hand failed to dislodge Hobbie's persistent efforts to wake him up, Wes reluctantly peered up from the pillow and rolled onto his side, wincing slightly as he moved. Bleary eyes focused on Hobbie's hand, following it as it awkwardly came to rest on the bed between them.

"What's on your hand?" Wes asked in a raspy voice.

Hobbie looked down for a moment, considering. "I think we might have gotten married yesterday," he admitted.

A thoughtful look crossed Wes's face. He pulled his free hand up to his face, turning it over to check for matching marks. Nothing.

"Try the other one."

With a soft sigh, Wes pushed himself up on his arm and looked down. Sure enough, similar marks decorated his right hand and arm. "Huh." Flopping onto his back (with another small wince), he held his arm up in the air, studying the marks in fascination. "Do you think these are permanent? I mean, they're not bad, but they're a little more abstract than anything I would have chosen."

"I don't-" Shaking his head, Hobbie forced the idle question away. "Did you hear what I said? I think we-"

"Had a Canto Bight wedding," Wes interrupted. Looking unconcerned, he shrugged. "It happens. We had been drinking." Then, he paused for a moment before snorting. "My family tends to produce… very friendly drunks. Accidentally getting married isn't the worst thing that could have happened."

"What does that mean, exactly?"

"It means Mom tells stories she shouldn't after she's had a few. Incidentally, if Skywalker ever learns a Force Mind Wipe power, let me know? I have a few memories I'd like removed," Wes said as he made an unhappy face. "Ugh. There are some things parents should never tell their children."

"You're not taking this seriously," Hobbie retorted, his voice somewhat accusatory.

"Hobbie, we got married on a planet so small and insignificant that our charts don't even have a name for the system, let alone its single inhabited planet. We had to talk to people to find that out. In the grand scheme of things, this is pretty minor." Folding his arms behind his head, Wes grinned. "Besides, it could be worse."

"How?"

"I could be female and impregnatable?"

" _What?_ "

"That's how I came to be in the galaxy." Wes scrunched his face again. "Like I said, Mom overshares when she's drunk. Again, Skywalker learning Force Mind Wipe powers would be amazing."

"I'm- I don't-"

Hobbie could feel the blood vessels pounding away in his skull. Helplessly, he collapsed back against the soft sheets and stared up at the ceiling. He didn't know what he'd expected, but chatting about how Wes was the product of drunken shenanigans similar to what they'd done the night before hadn't been anywhere on his scopes.

"There's one other thing you're overlooking."

There was a new tone in Wes's voice that immediately caught his attention. Before he could react, Wes suddenly heaved himself up, swinging a leg over Hobbie's torso and coming to a rest straddling his hips. Startled, Hobbie jerked his arms up and out of the way until Wes was settled on top of him.

As knees and powerful thighs squeezed his sides, Hobbie let his hands come down to rest on Wes's legs, tentative and light. Looming above him, Wes smirked, eyes dark and pupils clearly dilated.

"They told us yesterday when we landed that they wouldn't be done refueling until at least midday today. That their equipment is old and they don't have enough fuel on-site for both our ships so they'd have to bring some in." Wes's voice dropped to a lower register and he leaned forward, arms coming down to bracket Hobbie's shoulders. "Which means we still have a lot of time to kill before we can leave."

Almost unconsciously, Hobbie's hands slid up to Wes's bony hips and gripped tight. _Hell_ , he thought as Wes bent down and kissed him, _it isn't like I could get in more trouble._

* * *

It was over an hour later when Hobbie finally managed to pry Wes out of bed and push him into the shower. The younger man had proven to be quite enthusiastic about their new method of passing the time and, honestly, it hadn't taken long for Hobbie's feeling to match his.

But they did need to start preparing to leave and rendezvous with the Redemption.

"You know, I'm pretty sure it's traditional for newly married couples to spend most of the day after the wedding in bed," Wes insisted as Hobbie pushed him into the shower. "Mom used to say that after she and Dad got married-"

"I absolutely do not want to hear more of your mother's dirty stories."

"I didn't want to hear them either, but they're all stuck in my head. May as well use them!" Wes let out a small yelp as Hobbie reached in and turned the water on. Once he'd found the corner of the shower stall furthest from the cold spray, he just grinned. "Suffer with me, Hobbie."

Testing the water with his hand, Hobbie leaned against the frame of the shower door. "Are you talking about the cold water or the fact that your mother rambles about sex when she's drunk?"

After taking a moment to consider, Wes waggled his hand in the air. "Either. Both. The point is, you should join me."

Hobbie could only snort in reply. It wasn't long, though, before the water had reached a tolerable temperature. Stepping into the stall, he pulled the transparent door shut behind him and stepped into the spray.

For a long moment, he just enjoyed the sensation of warm water hitting his back and sliding down his skin, standing still with his eyes closed. Sensing that Wes was staring at him, he reluctantly opened his eyes again.

"You actually look kind of happy right now," Wes said, fascination in his voice. "This planet is good for you, I think. You usually just look kind of constipated back with the Fleet."

"We don't have the threat of imminent death hanging over our heads at the moment."

"Aw, and I thought it was my scintillating company." Grinning, Wes groped at the small shelf tucked into the corner over his shoulder and grabbed a chunky blue bar. "This smells like soap," he said, offering it to Hobbie.

"Thanks."

Taking the bar, Hobbie turned slightly so he could scrub at it under the water, working up a lather while hoping that the mostly human-looking population on this world meant the soap was safe for humans. Meanwhile, he cast a surreptitious look at Wes.

The man looked perfectly relaxed as he stood leaning against the tile wall, hands tucked neatly behind him. With Hobbie's body blocking only part of the water spray now, a fine mist of water had managed to reach him, clinging to his hair and eyelashes. The beginnings of a few scattered pinkish red bruises dotted his hips and thighs, matching the ones Hobbie could feel developing on his own back and shoulders.

"So what happens after this?"

Startled, Hobbie jerked his eyes back up to Wes's face. His posture was still calm and relaxed, but if he looked close, Hobbie realized there was a hint of tension in Wes's face, a slight tightness around his eyes. Not quite so calm, then.

"What do you mean?"

"When we get back to the Fleet. Is it you, me, and the hyperspace ways after this?"

Hobbie blinked for a moment in confusion. Then blinked again as he ran the statement through the Wes-focused filters his brain had started developing. _Oh_. He was asking about…

"I hadn't thought too much about it," he admitted after a moment. "I guess… we can see what happens?" Hobbie frowned again as his voice trailed off.

"They do say that what happens in Canto Bight stays in Canto Bight." Wes laughed softly, the tension in his face seeming to ease off.

"Maybe not everything." The words slipped out before Hobbie could stop them and he could feel heat spreading across his face.

Wes's eyes went a little wide at the unexpected reply, then a small smirk flitted across his face. His gaze flickered downwards, then he nodded slightly. "Looks like the tattoos aren't permanent after all."

Sure enough, the brown ink was running off his hand, the soapy water turning an odd orange color.

"That's a shame, you probably needed that to help convince the Boss about what happened here," Wes teased.

"What?" Hobbie demanded.

"Please. The minute you see Narra, you'll be spilling the whole thing. You couldn't keep a thing from him even if you wanted to."

Determinedly scrubbing off the last bit of the brown ink, Hobbie glared. "I could, too."

"Derek Klivian, leave something out of a report? I'd pay to see that."

"I've done it before," Hobbie shot back. "And you'll end up telling Antilles everything over Corellia brandy and sabacc."

Wes gasped softly, eyes going wide in mock hurt. "Me? The man who's pulled off some of the greatest pranks the _Redemption_ has ever seen?"

"What pranks?"

" _Exactly_."

Hobbie felt a smirk spreading across his face, a match to the one stretched across Wes's face.

"You have something in mind?"

"Well, to be properly thematic," Wes drawled, "I think whoever spills the truth first should have to spend a few days in one of the lovely gowns we saw in the festival plaza yesterday."

"Assuming we can get one," Hobbie noted.

"I'm sure we can manage."

Wes would break first, Hobbie was certain of it. He let his tongue wag at the sabacc table and Wedge would be sure to ask after every detail of their mission. This would be _easy_.

Still smirking, Hobbie extended his hand, and with a short laugh, Wes reached out and shook it with his own. The brown tattoos on his hand were still intact, and the water striking their clasped hands brought back the memory of getting married in the plaza the day before.

Perhaps it was the memory of the excited crowd and the buzzing in his head, or the full body ache reminding him of how they'd celebrated after. But just as he should have been letting go, Hobbie found himself tugging Wes closer, and wrapped an arm around his waist once he was standing close.

Their lower bodies brushed together and Hobbie knew he wasn't the only one thinking about the last several hours.

"Dear," he said in mock greeting.

"Husband," Wes laughed as he looped his arms around his neck.

"You're going down," Hobbie vowed right before kissing him.

* * *

 _Coming next, the Rebellion is close to moving to Hoth when the Rogues have to deal with a tricky situation - and its aftermath._


	2. Chapter 2

_RED SQUADRON_

 _RENEGADE FLIGHT_  
 _Commander Arhul Narra, Renegade One/Red Leader_  
 _Ryoo Bailo, Renegade Two_  
 _Ravra Hart, Renegade Three_  
 _Kanet Ving, Renegade Four_  
 _Tyther Mundy, Renegade Five_  
 _Kir Rebeyr, Renegade Six_

 _ROGUE FLIGHT_  
 _Luke Skywalker, Rogue Seven_  
 _Hobbie Klivian, Rogue Eight_  
 _Tycho Celchu, Rogue Nine_  
 _Wedge Antilles, Rogue Ten_  
 _Wes Janson, Rogue Eleven_  
 _Zev Senesca, Rogue Twelve_

* * *

 **2.5 ABY**

* * *

Wes drummed his fingers absently-mindedly on the control stick while his free hand beat out the counterpoint to the music playing in his cockpit on his leg. Force, this was boring. And not just because he'd already listened to the album a dozen times over the past several days. "Kate, any updates from the cargo ship?" he asked.

The droid tucked into the socket behind him let out a sad, almost mournful mechanical whimper as words flashed across the datascreen in front of him: _The Caravel is still refueling. There has been no progress made on repairs to the malfunctioning primary fuel line._

Groaning, Wes thumped his head back against the padded headrest of his seat.

"Leader, Five," came Mundy's nervous voice over the comms. "How much longer are we going to be here?"

"As long as it takes, Renegade Five," Commander Narra promptly replied. As always, the leader of Red Squadron's voice was steady and calm. All the better to set a good example for the Renegade and Rogue Flights that made up the squadron.

"Here's something," Luke suddenly broke in over the comm. "I've been chatting with the _Caravel's_ main engineer and we think we may have figured out a fix for the fuel line. It's going to take a while to get it finished, and we'll need plan for one more stop-over to reroute more fuel. But after that, we should be good to finish the trip to Echo Base."

Cheers erupted over the comms and Wes couldn't suppress the sudden jolt of energy Luke's words gave him, wriggling in his seat at the thought that they might finally, _finally_ be done with this mission soon. "Hear that, Kate?" Wes asked gleefully. "The end may finally be in sight for this hell trip!"

The chirp that played through the cockpit speakers was considerably more cheerful. The datascreen flashed again: _I have queried R2-D2 and received specifics concerning repairs to the Caravel. The mission is now projected to be complete in three hours and forty-six minutes, and the return to the Redemption in five hours, twenty-eight minutes. In total, we will be fifty-eight hours and nineteen minutes behind schedule by the end of the mission_.

Sighing, Wes nodded as he read R4-K8's message. "At this point, I'll take it."

The comm crackled again. " _Caravel_ to the convoy. Sorry for the delay," apologized the captain of the lead cargo ship. "We'll be ready to proceed in about ten minutes. Our navigator has calculated the jump to our next, and hopefully last, stop-over point. Sending the route now."

"No hurry, _Caravel_ ," Narra replied. "The safety of you and your sister ships is our primary goal. Take all the time you need. We'll proceed at your pace."

Wes immediately thumbed his comm. "Lead, Eleven, a little hurry up on their part wouldn't be the worst thing in the galaxy."

"Less chatter, Eleven," Narra retorted with some amusement.

"This is Eight. If we rush the _Caravel_ , they might explode and take _Aiol's Talisman_ and the _Sapphire Gate_ with them. And possibly all of us. I'm fine waiting."

He shouldn't roll his eyes at every one of Hobbie's pessimistic thoughts, Wes had learned. His eyes would probably fall out of their sockets if he reacted every time. Thumbing his comm, Wes readied a scathing retort-

"Lead, this is Six. A Star Destroyer just dropped out of hyperspace." The low-powered transmission added a harsh layer of distortion to Kir's voice. "I've set down on the moon and reduced to minimal power. No sign of detection yet. Recommend you stay in geosynchronous orbit."

The sudden announcement sent a chill down Wes's spine as his breath caught in his throat. Clenching his hands tight on the yoke, he forced himself to breathe normally and glanced at his datascreen. The info Six's astromech had transmitted to the squadron flashed quickly over the screen. The I-Class Star Destroyer appeared to be on route towards the second planet in the system from the edge of the system - and would pass close by the hidden convoy lurking behind the third planet.

Commander Narra's voice cut through the sudden nervous chatter flooding the comm. " _Caravel_ , how soon before you can make the jump out of the system?"

The transport's captain quickly replied in a strained voice. "We're putting repairs on hold and cutting off the remaining fuel transfer. We should be ready in five minutes, maybe sooner."

"Acknowledged. Transmit once you're ready and we'll clear the path."

Wes flexed his hands again as Narra growled orders to prep the convey, hoping his gloves would absorb the sweat forming on the palms of his hands. Tension was high throughout the squadron, and after spending days in their X-Wings, no one was at their best. A fight right now would probably be bloody and filled with casualties.

"This is going to be just like Maldra IV," Mundy whimpered over the comms.

"Settle down, Five," Narra barked. "The Imps don't know we're here. This was an unscheduled stop."

"Why else would they be here? There's nothing else in this system they could want! Just us!"

"Five, this is no time- _Sithspawn!_ " Narra swore vociferously as Five powered his thrusters and shot away from the convoy. "Eleven, Twelve, after him! If the Imperials detect him, we're all in trouble."

"Acknowledged, Lead," Zev said, quickly cranking his X-Wing around to chase after Five.

Even as sickening dread began to fill his stomach, Wes copied the maneuver and tucked in close to his wingmate. It's happening all over again, he realized, unconsciously starting to rock slightly in his seat, urging his X-Wing to fly faster.

"S-foils in attack position, Eleven," Zev ordered. "Power your lasers and pray we don't have to use them."

We will, Wes thought bleakly, wishing time would just speed up and get this over with.

Unaware of his wingmate's inner turmoil, Zev's voice crackled over the comms as they followed Five's circumnavigation of the planet. "Five, stand down! You can't get away on your own."

"They'll kill us," Five whimpered. "They slaughtered thousands at Maldra IV and didn't care that they were refugees. If we stay here, we'll die, just like them!"

"We're not staying here, Five," Zev immediately replied. "Not for long. We'll get out of this system alive, but we have to stick together."

As the argument began to rage, Zev pleading and coaxing, Five terrified and panicked, Wes mechanically lined up his shot. Can I do this again? he thought as the targeting reticule lit up. Shoot down another panicking squadmate? A countdown flashed onto his datascreen, marking the time left until he had to fire. It wasn't a lot.

"Dammit, Five," Zev finally snapped. "If you want get yourself killed, that's one thing. But making your own squadmates shoot you down is low."

"Shoot me- Zev, we can get out," Five pleaded. "The three of us. We- we can escape-"

"You have five seconds to come about before we have to take the shot. Four seconds. Three. Two-"

Five let out a terrified wail, but banked his X-Wing, cutting his desperate bid for safety short.

 _DO NOT FIRE_ , K8 flashed onto the datascreen. _Threat neutralized. Our course did not pass into the projected detection range._

"Thank the Force," Zev sighed. "Five, set course back to the convoy. We're getting out - all of us. Eleven, you still with us?"

Realizing his teeth were chattering, Wes clenched his jaw for a moment before replying. "I'm here, Twelve," he choked out. "Kate says we should be in the clear."

"Good. The _Caravel_ and the rest of the convoy should be ready to run for the jump point once we meet back up with the others. Five, stay close."

"We're going to die, Twelve," Five whispered.

"Not today, Five, not today."

"Not today," Wes whispered to himself. "We're not-" His voice cut off with a sudden choke as his throat locked up.

He couldn't stop shaking.

* * *

It seemed as though almost no time had passed when Red Squadron finally docked with the _Redemption_.

"Let's never do that again," Wedge groaned as he hoisted himself out of his cockpit.

"Is there a particular aspect of that hell mission you'd like to avoid in the future?" Celchu asked as he copied his wingmate's actions.

"Just pick one," Hobbie grumbled. Hissing, he stretched his arms and rotated his shoulders. Then glancing up, "Wes, you getting out?" he called up to the younger pilot.

"Out? Of the cockpit? Don't be crazy, we live in here," Wes called back. "We fight in our X-Wings, we sleep in them, eat in them, sh-"

"Alright, that's enough." Looking more than a little peeved, Zev hoisted himself up the ladder the techs had rolled into place and grabbed Wes's arm, pulling upwards.

Wes let out a yelp as the tight grip dragged him up and out of the cockpit, his stiff legs bouncing off the control panel as Zev unceremoniously hoisted him over the side of the ship. "I was getting there," he said in a testy voice, clutching hard at the rim of the cockpit for balance.

"You need a shower," Zev informed him as he started climbing back down the ladder.

"Like we all don't smell like bantha sweat!" Wes called after him. Irritation shot through him like a blaster bolt. Swinging his legs down onto the top of the ladder, he sat for a moment on the rim of his cockpit, painfully aware of the ache that had spread through his entire body over the past several hours and the sweat that had soaked through parts of his flight suit. For once, the cold air of the hangar bay actually felt comforting to his overheated body.

"Hit the showers," Narra's voice suddenly ordered. "Get some real food and rest. You're off duty for the next thirty-six hours starting now. Make it count."

Peering down, Wes saw his commander glancing around, catching as many eyes as he could before steering Mundy away and towards the exit. Wes averted his eyes from Renegade Five, suppressing a shudder. He didn't know what was going to happen to the pilot, and frankly, he didn't care. He just knew he couldn't fly with him ever again. Not after-

Wes felt his brain glitching, the memory of chasing down Five, of chasing down Kissek Doran flaring hot and bright in his head. The two scenes were achingly clear, but then seemed to blur and overlap. In both, he shook as he watched the ship racing ahead of him/them while clutching at the pilot's yoke/gunnery controls, ready to fire-

Giving himself a shake, he forced himself into motion, struggling to get his suddenly panicked breathing under control and to derail his thoughts as he hurriedly clambered down the ladder. He'd spent most of the flight to Echo Base and then to the Redemption doing his best to stuff the incident with Mundy into the sealed storage compartment in his brain labeled "Doran". He couldn't lose it now. (He didn't have Piggy to talk him out of a panic attack anymore. He couldn't break.)

Once safely on the floor of the hanger bay, Wes hurried after his squad, eyes scanning for the other members of Rogue Flight, instinctively seeking out Hobbie's close-cropped blond hair for reassurance. Just as he entered the locker room and caught up with the others, a groan passed from one member of Renegade and Rogue Flight to the next.

"What? What is it?" Wes demanded, trying to peer around the other, mostly taller pilots.

"The showers are broken," Hobbie groaned, picking at his flight suit with his hand.

No, no, no- He wanted out of this flight suit, with its smell of sweat and panic and dread-

Somehow, Luke spotted him at the back of the cluster from where he was facing the pilots and pointed a finger at him, clearly assuming he was preparing to do something rash. "Do not even think about stripping down and heading back to your bunk naked," he ordered in a firm voice. "I'll call Laundry, ask them to make a special pick-up at all of our quarters just this once. Use the sonics near your quarters and stuff your flight suits into a- a- pillowcase or something for them."

"Those things are tiny." The thought of jamming himself back into such a small space made his skin crawl. Something in his tone, meanwhile, must have been off, because he got a few sideways looks.

"Look, I know this isn't what we were hoping for after a mission like we just had, but we'll just have to make do." Luke looked just as tired and stressed as the rest of them. Perhaps more so. Scrubbing at his face, he looked around at the cluster of pilots. "Drop your gear off, grab your clothes, and go find the sonics."

A small curdle of guilt coiled in his stomach at Luke's obvious exhaustion. Biting the inside of his cheek, Wes forced himself not to fire off another remark and reluctantly trailed after the other pilots as they slowly scattered towards their individual lockers. Complaining to Luke wouldn't get him anywhere, no matter how much his skin was itching and crawling with filth.

"You alright?" Zev asked as he started stowing his helmet and other gear in his locker. The older man was casting him wary looks over his shoulder.

"I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be fine?" Wes snapped back. The feeling of irritation and annoyance surged within him, even stronger than before. His sweat soaked flight suit was rough and heavy against his skin as he dragged off his life support gear and emergency straps. "Everything's great."

Before Zev could reply, he grabbed the duffle that held his change of clothes and slammed the door to his locker shut. Without looking back, he stormed out of the room.

* * *

Hobbie watched, staring frozen as Wes vanished around the sharp bend leading towards the exit. After a few heartbeats, he shifted his eyes towards Zev, who grimaced.

"I can bunk with Skywalker tonight," Zev said. "Mind keeping an eye on Wes? He's pretty wound up about something."

"Me? You're his wingmate."

"He likes you more." Shrugging, Zev turned back to his locker.

As a blush spread across his cheeks, Hobbie hurriedly finished stowing his gear in his locker and grabbed his bag. There were days he wondered if Zev knew about Niopra somehow, if Wes had accidentally alluded to it while jabbering at his wingmate.

He trusted Wes enough to believe that he'd fess up if he'd lost the bet they'd made on the small colony. Or at least, he trusted him to look guilty if he'd let slip the truth about their accidental "marriage". A marriage that wouldn't even be recognized on any other planet.

No, it was much more likely that Zev was thinking more that he and Wes tended to socialize together in their off hours, and had done so more and more since Niopra. That Wes managed to drag him into all sorts of hijinks all over the ship, within their squadron, and during their rare opportunities for leave. And that Hobbie, in turn, had managed to help the enthusiastic teenager stabilize some as he hit his early twenties, slowly growing a bit less manic and impulsive, and becoming somewhat more thoughtful and measured in his actions.

"I'll see what I can do," Hobbie promised as he closed his locker. Zev offered him a distracted wave and Hobbie took that as his cue to leave.

Fortunately, it didn't take too long to make his way to Wes and Zev's quarters. The regular crew passing him in the hallways and sharing turbolifts were rather notably giving him a wide berth. The sooner he got into the shower, the better.

Wes and Zev's quarters were identical to the ones Hobbie shared with Luke and were, in fact, just a few doors further down the hallway. Palming the door controls, Hobbie slipped into the room and glanced around, confirming Wes was likely already in the showers.

The quarters the squadron had been allotted were little more than converted closets. Beds were bolted to one wall in bunk bed fashion, one on top of the other. Small storage niches had been carved into the wall near the head of the beds with ports for recharging datapads and comlinks, as well as a bedside chrono. There was room for a storage crate underneath the lower bunk for storing the personal belongings of both pilots and a small fold-down desk facing the beds.

The rooms were miserably small, overall. But since pilots spent so much time in their snubfighters, the _Redemption_ hadn't seen fit to afford them larger, more permanent quarters. And really, with all the training and recreation facilities on board, they only used the rooms for two things: sleeping and, well, the other way Wes and Hobbie spent some of their time together when they could slip away unnoticed.

Sighing softly to himself, Hobbie balanced against the wall while he awkwardly undid the laces of his boots and dropped them onto the floor. Then, hoping Wes had remembered to take something with him to the showers to stuff his dirty clothes into, he hitched his bag higher onto his shoulder and left for the refreshers.

The shared 'freshers were relatively empty and Hobbie immediately spotted Wes's spare clothes and a partially filled pillowcase sitting on the bench standing in front of two of the shower units.

Dropping his bag on the bench next to Wes's, Hobbie started to strip, pausing here and there to stuff dirty garments into the pillowcase as he peeled the stiff, stained items off. "Hey, Wes?" he called out as he dragged off his undershirt.

There was a brief pause. "Yeah?" answered a muffled voice.

"Zev wanted to go over something with Luke. Mind if I crash with you tonight?"

"That's fine."

Just as Hobbie was shoving his last few pieces of clothing into the pillowcase, Wes's voice spoke up again.

"Did Zev mention what he wanted to talk about?"

There was an odd note in Wes's voice, too vague for Hobbie to put his finger on exactly. Gnawing on his lip for a moment, Hobbie glanced around the quiet 'fresher, then sighed before reaching out to hit the door controls. This wouldn't be as comfortable as the shower on Niopra, but they'd squeezed into the _Redemption's_ sonics together before. It was doable, just… cozy.

Inside the tall metal tube, Wes blinked, startled, then automatically backed up when Hobbie stepped into the shower. Once the door slid shut behind him, the shower released another spray of soapy water, barely enough to coat Hobbie's entire body, and started up the sonics once more.

While high-frequency, low amplitude sound waves began to vibrate the liquid mixture and cleanse almost a full week's worth of sweat and grime off his body, Hobbie gave Wes a thoughtful look before answering.

"I think it was something to do with Echo Base," he finally replied. Knowing Zev, that would come up anyways once he and Luke had settled in for the evening. A trader to the core, Zev was always thinking about goods and supply lines, all things they were still establishing for the new base. And the last thing he wanted to do right now was make Wes feel like he was being singled out. He'd clam up completely, locking away whatever was clearly bothering him.

Even now, Wes stood with his shoulders hunched and his arms folded across his chest, elbows pressed tight to his sides in the cramped space. His fingers were drumming a rapid staccato on his arm as he fidgeted, shifting his weight from side to side in the narrow tube. And while there wasn't a single pilot from Red Squadron who didn't have dark circles under their eyes, Wes's were especially pronounced.

In the dim light in the tube, Hobbie could see Wes's eyes flickering as he processed the vague excuse Hobbie had offered. Suddenly inhaling sharply, he nodded, a quick, jerky gesture. "That makes sense," he agreed.

Some of the worry on Wes's face seemed to ease off, but the fidgeting and constant motion didn't stop.

"Are you all right?" Hobbie asked, peering closer at him. "You're twitching worse than a glit-biter on Hoth."

Fire erupted in Wes's eyes as his temper lashed out. "I'm fine! Why does everyone keep asking me that?!"

The Wes-focused portions of Hobbie's brain sounded an alarm. Without any hesitation, he stepped forward, closing the centimeters wide gap between their bodies, and enfolded Wes in his arms. Wes had a breaking point, Hobbie had learned, where words stopped helping and more direct action was needed.

As Hobbie shoved Wes against the back of the tube, Wes's hands, pinned between their bodies, flailed, his fingers arching and digging into Hobbie's chest. He bucked, trying to shake the other man off, but Hobbie held firm - barely. Wes had filled out a lot over the last two years, almost looking his proper age of twenty-one, and it wouldn't be long before he was finally strong enough to overpower him. For now, though, Hobbie still had an edge over him.

Hobbie pressed harder against Wes, forcing his back to arch slightly over the arms Hobbie still had wrapped around him. Wes bucked again, twisting his hips and trying to drop his shoulder to shove Hobbie back, but he couldn't get any leverage.

Or rather, Wes couldn't get any leverage that didn't require actually hurting Hobbie or tapping out like they'd been trained to do when practicing hand-to-hand. After the first time Wes had worked himself into this state, Hobbie had insisted afterwards on discussing the matter. The conversation had been more than a little embarrassing, but they'd settled on some ground rules so neither of them got hurt on these rare occasions when Wes just needed someone to hold him down and let him rage. And tapping out was a easy, yet straightforward way to signal when something had gone wrong.

Finally, after a few more moments of struggle, Wes went still, practically vibrating with tension. Then, just as abruptly as he'd erupted, he sagged, head drooping forward to rest on Hobbie's shoulder while his body went slack. Suddenly, instead of holding him in place, Hobbie was the only thing holding him upright.

They stood still for several long moments, long enough for the sonics to finish their work and jets of cool air to suddenly start blowing, drying off the remaining moisture and making them both shiver.

Hobbie didn't move even when the jets clicked off. He could still feel minute tremors running through Wes's body and he doubted they had anything to do with the temperature of the air around them.

Finally, he pulled his head back slightly. "Wes?" he asked in a soft voice.

When the other pilot raised his head, he simply looked tired. "I just-" he broke off for a moment, gaze briefly shifting away. "I just need to stop thinking for a while. Can you- we-" He broke off again, biting his lip.

Loosening his grip slightly, Hobbie searched Wes's face. What he was looking for, though, he wasn't sure. "Are you sure that will help?"

It was a relief to see Wes consider it, to truly ponder Hobbie's question. Because Hobbie didn't want to take advantage of the younger man or make things worse. Wes was too important to him to do that.

Finally, though, Wes nodded slowly. "Yeah, I think it will. It's- there's too much in my head right now and I just need it all to stop for a while."

Taking a deep breath, Hobbie noted that Wes's tremors had stopped. His heart rate was slowing and the flare of anger from earlier had faded away. He did seem to be doing better. "Alright, then," he replied. "But not here. And you go to sleep afterwards and get some real rest."

"Okay." Wes grinned faintly, looking relieved. Leaning forward, he suddenly pressed his lips against Hobbie's and flattened a hand against his chest.

"Hey, I said-"

"I know, I know."

Shaking his head, Hobbie backed up to the door of the shower, untangling himself from Wes. As his hand hovered for a moment over the door controls, he spared a moment to pray no one would be lurking outside.

Luck was on his side for once, and while several of the shower units were now occupied, no one was standing around outside them. And a glance at the belongings piled outside the units strongly suggested that none of the other bathers were pilots, which was even better.

Wes climbed out of the shower after him and they dressed, luxuriating in the feeling of clean clothes against their skin. Suddenly full of energy, Wes seized the stuffed pillowcase and his duffle, swinging both over his shoulder. And when he strode out the door, bare feet quiet on the metal floor, Hobbie was right behind him.

* * *

As the Laundry droid left the small room, Wes let his head fall back onto his pillow. The droid didn't care that the room's organic inhabitants were crammed together on the top bunk and probably wouldn't even make a note of it in its memory banks.

Which was for the better. Hobbie was still feeling shy and protective about… whatever it was that was going on between them. It was strange all the different things that made Hobbie clam up, Wes thought to himself as his fingers idly traced the invisible line that marked the end of his friend's arm and the beginning of the prosthetic. Hobbie had no trouble flirting with women (even if he was terrible at it) and could negotiate terms with a professional companion without any sign of embarrassment.

But this? For whatever reason, Hobbie was oddly protective of it and didn't want anyone else to know. For a moment, Wes wondered if it was because of something to do with himself. But that didn't feel right, so it had to be something else. It could just be that they existed in a wide, gray space, more than just friends, but far too aware of the risk of death to label themselves lovers. Married, but only on a planet so insignificant even the Empire hadn't taken notice of them. No, he and Hobbie were somewhere in between all of that. And keeping the others out did prevent them from trying to put labels on it.

Oh well. Taking a deep breath, Wes shut his eyes and tried to let his overtired mind drift to sleep. It was a tight fit up on the top bunk, narrow, cramped, and neither of them had been able to sit up all the way without banging their heads on the ceiling. But they'd made do. And despite Hobbie's insistence that Wes go to sleep after they'd finished, he'd been the one to drop off right after. Which also meant Wes was still basically pinned underneath the lanky pilot, a thin sheen of sweat forming where Wes's back was pressed against Hobbie's narrow chest.

He'd spent most of the week trying to sleep sitting upright in an X-Wing. He could manage a few hours with Hobbie's bony knees digging into him.

His nerves were still thrumming a bit from his earlier outburst, causing his stomach to twinge occasionally, and promising the return of some bad dreams he'd thought he'd finally left behind him. But Hobbie's presence helped. He was solid and warm, and would help him figure out what was real and what wasn't later on. Even as he dreamed about having to shoot down his friends one by one, he knew Hobbie would eventually twitch, kick him, or jab an elbow in his side as he slept. And then he'd remember that the nightmares were just that - terrors made up by his malfunctioning brain thanks to the horrendous events of the last mission.

It wouldn't be good sleep, but it would be sleep. And with a little more distance between him and everything that had happened, he'd be able to be himself again - a pilot, a prankster, and a loyal Rebel soldier. Everything he needed to be to keep going.

And besides, he thought as he stretched out as best he could. If he woke up early enough, he could probably get Hobbie worked up for Round Two the next morning. Some well placed teasing about feeling like a neglected spouse…

As Wes finally drifted off to sleep, there was a small smile on his face.

* * *

 _Coming up, in the months following the evacuation from Hoth, the Rogues get an easy mission escorting a negotiator to the agri-world Taanab._


End file.
